Cali, Colombia: the place that is not Hell.

Many of you have heard of my hometown: Cali, Colombia. You have heard of it because of successful tv shows like Narcos or pretty much any other movie that involves drug trafficking. What you may not know is that my hometown is a place full of beauty and wonderful people. While it is true that violence and crime are a part of the daily life of the city, especially of its most impoverished areas, it is also a place of art, culture, and intellectual pursuits.

You can admire modern art at the Museum La Tertulia or explore the past at the Archeological Museum of La Merced. There is no need to travel all the way to Broadway for good theater: at the Teatro Municipal, I saw internationally acclaimed plays like the Vagina Monologues and watched a wonderful Philarmonic Orchestra play the music of Queen. Many tourists flood the city during the last week of December for the famous Feria de Cali, a five-day festival full of parades and where you can dance to the best salsa orchestras in the world.

Cali is a place where you can sit by a terrace to watch the sunset while having a beer with a delicious marranita, a plantain pastry filled with yummy pork. Where you can go to a night club and casually dance salsa with one of the most famous dancers in the world who just happen to be there whenever they are not on tour. Or maybe you would like to travel back in time by taking a drive to one of the surrounding Haciendas, where you can cosplay to be living in the 1800s as a landowner of the post-colonial era.

There are many things that make Cali a wonderful place, but the most important one one is the people. We have the nicest people in the world. My son, who was raised in the United States, still thinks that is hilarious how profusely any salesperson will thank you for your purchase: “muchas gracias señor, con mucho gusto, para servirle, vuelva para tener el gusto de atenderlo, que Dios lo bendiga y lo guarde,” which would roughly translate as “thank you very much, sir, it was my pleasure, I’m at your service, please come back so I can take care of you again, God bless you and keep you.” You can imagine how rough it was for me to move to the US and have salespeople answer to “thank you” with “u-hu”.

A great example of Cali warmth was when we took my son’s American girlfriend there with us one Christmas. The poor girl was overwhelmed for a few days, not used to so much affection and so little boundaries. We arrived on Christmas Eve, which is a night of celebration and party down there. Instead of going home, we drove straight to my aunt’s house, where a group of about 40 people was gathered, all relatives. It was loud, full of music, laughter food, and aguardiente, the most commonly drank liquor. The poor American girlfriend tried to disappear by sitting on a corner, but she was immediately accosted by grandma Leo, who was mesmerized by the girl’s fair hair. “So pretty!” grandma cooed over and over, running her fingers over the soft hair while the poor kid looked like she was being cornered by a wild animal. People from Cali turns out, don’t understand the concept of a personal bubble. They assume that if you entered their family home you are part of the family, and therefore subject to both endless shows of affection and the occasional scolding if your behavior is not up to par.

That is the Cali that I know. Not the Cali of the Cartels, but the Cali of the people. The one that raised me well and gave me the tools to become a doctor, a scientist, and a well-rounded person. The Cali of my heart.